


Bucky's Birds and Bees

by HGRising



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Stucky - Freeform, The Language of Flowers, just hoping bucky will pollinate him, precious precious flower, steve is a victorian flower, wait fuck, where do the birds come in??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 21:48:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14481888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HGRising/pseuds/HGRising
Summary: Flower shop AU. “Which flowers will say ‘fuck you’ the most?” The shopkeep purses his lips and dries his hands on the front of his apron. “Have you considered a card?”





	Bucky's Birds and Bees

**Bucky’s Birds and Bees**

.

A/N: Flower shop AU. “Which flowers will say ‘fuck you’ the most?” The shopkeep purses his lips and dries his hands on the front of his apron. “Have you considered a card?”

.

In between the corner flower shop and the tattoo parlor next door, there is a story waiting to be told, but Bucky Barnes has no time to answer that particular siren call. This is the fifth shop he’s gone to, and the first that appears open on Sunday evenings. He’s going to be late to the dinner he never should have agreed to in the first place, and he’s been wearing the same soft but threadbare shirt and sweats for the past three days, caught in a caffeinated writing frenzy.

He would reexamine his life choices later, but at the moment, he’s been entrusted to pick up flowers for one of his closest friends.

Pushing the door open in a huff—he really should lay off the cigarettes—, the bell tinkles to announce his presence. Making a direct path to the front, he finds a man behind the counter and stops short.

“Hi, how can I help you?”

The man is gorgeous and professional but _gorgeous_ , and his voice leaves Bucky’s knees weak and vulnerable. And, dreadfully, Bucky’s in his goddamn dirty sweats and can’t remember the last time he’s washed his hair, so Bucky blurts, “Which flowers will say ‘fuck you’ the most?”

The shopkeep purses his lips and dries his hands on the front of his apron. “Have you considered a card?”

He chokes out a laugh and shakes his head emphatically before finding his words— _words_ are how he makes a living for goodness sake. He shouldn’t be having such a hard time. “No, no card. Wouldn’t be able to handle the temptation. And it’s not for me. From me. For me.” He takes a deep breath; he can do this. “I’m getting them for a friend. For a friend for another friend. My friend’s girlfriend.” Words fall out one after the other, and he can’t help but feel words have betrayed him in this moment. He tries again, “It’s my friend’s girlfriend’s birthday, and I want to be passive-aggressive about how much I hate her.”

The blond Adonis behind the counter is silent for a longer period than is polite, and he thinks he’s going to get thrown out of the shop and starts coming up with excuses to tell Sam why he’s late and why he doesn’t have flowers, the one thing he’s ever asked from Bucky after giving so much. Bucky starts to back away when the man opens his mouth.

“I have some nice foxgloves,” he suggests, brows knitting uncertainly. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth as if in deep thought, and Bucky is ready to recite odes.

Instead, he clears his throat and takes out a credit card. “Sounds great.”

He doesn’t expect the man to keep talking as he ducks out from behind the counter, brushes past Bucky—Bucky discreetly gives himself the sniff test as soon as he’s out of sight—, and goes deeper into the shop to a bucket of purple flowers. “Foxgloves,” the guy says, pushing up his sleeves—Or, maybe Bucky should say a prayer. Lord have mercy—, “are pretty and are even used medicinally, but if used improperly,” he pauses, “they can be poisonous.”

“Cool, cool.” He clears his throat nervously for the umpteenth time, throat dry.

“Yeah,” he brightens. “Basically, it’s ‘Here’s some nice flowers, and I’m not saying I want you to die, but if you’re stupid enough to eat them, then I can’t really be blamed, can I?’ Not exactly ‘fuck you,’ but subtlety’s an art.”

He keeps his smile on the entire time looking pleased with himself, and Bucky gets the impression that he shouldn’t fuck around with this man.

“It’s perfect.”

The blond continues to aggressively smile at him as he hands over his card in exchange for the flowers, sad to leave the small shop, even sadder to leave the shopkeeper. But, Sam’s waiting and so is Sam’s cheating girlfriend, so he goes.

.

A week later, Bucky finds the courage to visit the shop again when he finds that he’s out of coffee. It’s a few blocks out of his normal commute to the grocer, but he can’t help himself. He also can’t help but make sure his hair is clean and that he’s wearing his lucky jeans this time.

The same bell tinkles above his head, and the same face greets him.

“Hey, it’s you.”

Bucky nods.

“How’d the flowers go over?”

“She loved ‘em.”

“And you’re in the market for more passive-aggressive flowers?”

“Nah. These’ll be for me. Maybe make my place look a little nicer.”

“Sure you don’t need anything for your girlfriend?”

Bucky snorts in response.

“… or boyfriend?”

“Neither.”

“Excellent.”

Bucky finds himself mirroring the guy’s grin, infectious.

“Then, might I suggest a yellow jonquil?”

“Sure. I trust you.”

The blond tilts his head in consideration, but his smile softens, and Bucky can’t help but swoon like a heroine in one of the trashy romance novels he loves.

This goes on for a few more weeks, and he continues to blindly take whatever is recommended. Over the course of the first few visits, Bucky finds out that the man’s name is Steve, and he lives above the shop. Later, Bucky finds out Steve loves being a florist, but he would rather much have the freedom to focus solely on his art. Bucky learns he’s an only child, and used to be very sickly; he never would have thought he’d end up in a flower shop with his severe allergies. The conversation is nice and easy between them.

It’s an exchange of sorts, Steve gives him a recommendation, and Bucky makes conversation, leaves happy each time.

Meanwhile, Sam wonders loudly about the introductions to Bucky’s décor, but it makes his place seem brighter and helps with the smoky air.

In the end, it all comes to a head when Sam finally breaks up with his girlfriend for the last time, and Bucky decides to help him get drunk at his place. While Sam mourns, Bucky concludes that Sam might need a distraction, and really, he brings it on himself. Sam is a terrible busybody and a worse matchmaker. But, seeing Sam come out of himself when he tells his story makes it worth it. Or so Bucky reminds himself as he’s being dragged through Steve’s shop.

Steve is visibly confused as he greets Bucky and the stranger. Rather, he asks, “Hey, Bucky. Who’s that?”

And, wow, Bucky’s never seen Steve be less than polite to anyone, including rude customers whom lesser men (read: Bucky) would’ve told to shove it, but now he sounds downright irate.

“Sam. He’s, uh, a friend.” At Steve’s uncharacteristic scowl, Bucky feels compelled to say, “The foxgloves were for his girlfriend—err, ex-girlfriend.”

“Hey,” Sam greets, side-eying Bucky. “Steve, right? Bucky’s mentioned you.”

Steve crosses his arms and leans against the counter. Conspiratorially, he remarks, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he rolls his eyes, crossing his own arms with an exasperated smile.

“So, ex, huh? Sorry to hear, man. Did Bucky tell you about the foxgloves?”

“Yeah, dick move at the time but in retrospect… genius.”

“You need anything else, just let me know. I can get you red dahlias if you want to be classy or the number to my friend’s towing company if you don’t.”

He chuckles in appreciation. “Probably going to hold off on that for right now.”

Cutting through to regain Steve’s attention, Bucky butts in and asks Steve for his usual recommendation.

“I was hoping you’d come today, actually,” he reveals.

“Yeah?” Bucky’s surprised, honestly; he doesn’t think Steve thinks of him much on days he doesn’t come in.

“Yeah.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Sam sighs.

Bucky elbows him to shut up.

“Hold on. Gotta get them from the back. Didn’t want anyone to think I was treating you special or nothing.”

Sam interjects, “No of course not. Nothing special about our boy here, right Steve?”

Bucky was about to refute but was caught off guard by Steve’s blush as he retreated to the back room. Bucky would ask Sam what his angle was, but Steve returned all too soon with a red-purple bouquet of flowers.

“They’re _linaria bipartita_ ,” he explains. “From Morocco. I ordered them especially for you.”

“Oh.”

Bucky is at a lost, shooting signals at Sam, who seems to be absorbed in whatever he’s reading on his phone, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

Finally, Sam meets his eyes, but then turns to Steve, looks him straight in the eyes. “Roses too cliché for you?”

“What.”

Steve runs his hand through his hair almost sheepishly. Eyes toward the ceiling, he lets out a long breath.

“What,” Bucky repeats.

“Last week’s flowers were celandine. It means ‘joys to come,’” he pauses to wink at him, and Bucky just about melts into the floor, “which isn’t quite ‘fuck _me’_ but subtlety’s an art, you know?”

He looks at Bucky from beneath his lashes, and Bucky is dead, dead, dead to the world.

“You’re kidding me.”

Off to the side, Sam cackles at his friend’s predicament.

“You mean, you’ve been trying to send me secret flower messages, and you never bothered to tell me you were sending them?”

“If it didn’t work by next week, I was thinking about sending a card,” he shrugs. “Or maybe just dragging you upstairs to my place.”

“You’re a real piece of work.”

“Yeah. You got a problem with that?”

“Fuck no. Close up shop early, Stevie. I can show you the joys to come, too.”

.

“Aww, no. Ears. I’m still here, man.”

.

**Author's Note:**

> I am hoping to forget the end to the movie I am about to watch. HE WAS FINALLY HAPPY. WHY.


End file.
